Chapter Four
I didn’t return to The Glen for the day like usual. I stayed in the woods, as close to my Emilee as I could, agonizing over what I had said. I felt incredibly stupid.
I’m your friend?! Why did I say that? If I’d been able to beat myself up I probably would have done it. I couldn’t believe I’d told her I loved her either. What if she doesn’t feel the same and now she’ll want me to leave her alone? More than my physical desires were invested now. My heart wouldn’t be able to take it if she asked me not to return. It was like she had enchanted me instead of the other way around, like every other time I’d entered someone’s mind.
Should I not go back at all and save myself the heartache? I knew I would, though. There were a million questions and doubts running through my mind. I also knew that if she asked me to leave I would probably sit on the edge of the forest for the rest of forever and just wish to be with her.
Love was agonizingly and stupidly complicated.
It seemed like night would never come. When it finally did I refused to admit to myself how scared I was to return to Emilee. I felt like my world could fall apart at any moment. Her mind finally brushed lightly against my own and I took a deep breath—it was time to meet my fate.
We were in the dance hall once more. She was facing away from me, stretching in front of the mirrors, wearing a simple black dress. Her feet were bare, her hair in a ballerina bun. As usual, I changed my attire to match—black slacks, button up shirt, and bare feet.
She watched my reflection in the mirror as I walked in slowly and I held my breath. This is it! The rhythm of my heart pounded the words into my soul. She slowly stood and turned to face me, expressionless, her hand held out like the first night we met. I was confused; my heart didn’t know whether to pound or stop dead in its tracks.
Somewhat deflated, I walked over and assumed a dancing form with her. Soft piano music began to play and our dance took motion. She didn’t speak and I was too scared to even open my mouth and ask her anything.
“I had a bad day,” she said softly after a few movements. I was caught off guard and remained silent—she wasn’t starting with my confession from the night before. My heart tightened a little bit, as I wondered if it was my fault she was unhappy. After a few more moments of silence, she started again.
“I always like to come here and dance when I’ve had a bad day. I like coming when I haven’t had bad days, but that’s beside the point. Today was just a bad day. You know what I mean?” I managed to nod my head to avoid interrupting her—I felt she needed to say what was on her mind. It felt like something was crushing my chest as I listened to what she said next.
“My mother wanted me to take dance lessons,” she started again, leaving me completely clueless as to where the conversation was going. I wondered if I was about to get told off or something. “She drove me to class every day, came to every recital, videotaped every little performance . . . She always told me I was the prettiest little dancer she’d ever seen,” she laughed. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she stopped dancing all together and looked up into my eyes. “She got very sick,” she whispered. “I was out of high school by then and there was no one but me to take care of her, so I stopped going to classes. She always said how much she wanted to see me dance again, that it made her so happy, but I never did. I was too worried about her.” She swallowed hard, and looked down at the floor, her body beginning to tremble. A new type of dread filled me as I realized this conversation had absolutely nothing to do with me. I could barely hear her when she spoke again, her voice thick with emotion. “She died today.”
My heart broke for her, and I shared in the agony, which was displayed plainly before me. “Oh Emilee,” I said sorrowfully. I drew her into my embrace as she began to sob. She held on to me like I was the only thing she had left, crying into my chest. It occurred to me I might actually be the last thing she had left. Eventually, we moved to the edge of the room where we sat up against the wall. The rest of the night was spent in silence as we held each other and Emilee cried. I wanted to say something, anything, that would help her, but I didn’t know what words to use. I felt helpless as I cradled her against me, her tears soaking my shirt. When her mind began to pull away from mine I knew she was no more rested than when she went to sleep.
Emilee looked worn out the next night—in the same outfit with dark circles under her eyes. She sat next to the same wall with her eyes closed. I felt the shattering in my chest again.
I came prepared though. It occurred to me the night before that I knew next to nothing about her other than she loved dancing, wanted to see the world, her father was gone, and her mother had died the day before. Tonight I would try and help her forget the latter, if only for a little while.
I walked to her and sat down, wrapping my arms around her as she cuddled up against me. As soon as we were comfortable I launched right into my plan.
“Emilee,” I began, “What was your favorite thing to do as a child? . . . other than dance that is.” I waited patiently for her reply, knowing I’d caught her off guard. I desperately wanted my plan to work. After a few moments she finally responded.
“I liked to play on the swing set in our back yard. I would imagine I could fly.” She looked up and smiled at me weakly while she answered. I smiled as well, knowing that distracting her was a good idea.
“And why would you imagine flying?” I asked curiously.
“Every kid imagines they can fly, Raith. I preferred a swing over jumping off the roof like other kids.” I laughed at her comment and she giggled a little in reply, giving me confidence to continue.
“What else did you like to do?” All night I question her about everything I could think of, helping her to think of anything but her reality of sorrow. I learned that she had been an honors student all through school, loved the color blue, and liked to spend her afternoons reading. Her favorite thing to eat was a good cheeseburger and fries, and she worked at the library but she really wanted to teach dance for a living.
We laughed over her memory of being so excited to go to her first midnight movie with her friends when she was in high school. She spent the whole time running around and acting crazy. When the movie finally started, she was so tired from all of her excitement that she fell asleep five minutes after it started.
Each new thing I learned made me love her more. I wished I could spend every moment with her and see the things from her waking world. I wanted her forever, no matter what happened. I felt sick as cold reality slapped me in the face again; this was not real. It was a dream. I would not be able to keep her forever. Someday she would die, and I would still be stuck here . . . without her. All I would have left were my memories of us—memories that happened in a world that didn’t really exist.
I pushed my own fears and doubts away. Tonight is for Emilee, not for me.
I could tell she felt better by the time she began to wake up. It lifted a weight off of me, and I hoped her good feelings would last throughout the day. “Thank you, Raith,” she said seriously as our minds began to untangle themselves. “Thank you very, very much.” She kissed me on the cheek as she faded the rest of the way out.
A feeling of accomplishment surrounded me, and I felt good about ending the night right there. I had never been so happy to help someone in my life.
The next night followed the same basic pattern. We sat on the floor and I picked through Emilee’s brain, but I was running out of things to ask her and I could sense she still needed more of a distraction than just dancing would bring.
“Raith,” she said after a lull in our conversation, “Will you tell me about you now? I think I’ve told you just about everything there is to know about me.” She smiled at me sweetly, waiting patiently for a reply. I already decided beforehand that I would tell her the truth if she asked for it again. It still scared me to death to tell her, though.
“What do you want to know?” I asked her, not sure where to start.
“Y
ou’re not human,” she stated calmly, sure of herself.
“What makes you think that?” I asked curiously, trying to buy time to calm my nerves.
“I don’t know very many humans who can magically enter someone’s dreams every night.”
I chuckled and held her tighter, nuzzling my nose into her hair. “Well you’re right. I’m not a human being, not technically anyway.” Emilee looked up at me, eyebrows raised.
“Technically?”
“Well, according to our history or legends, whatever you want to call them,” I began, “the very first of my kind were humans. They were all brother and sister too.” I loved the way she looked at me with supreme interest. I twisted my fingers into her hair at my favorite spot—the nape of her neck—and slowly trailed them through the soft strands until my fingers became free. I continued the movement absentmindedly, not realizing I had stopped talking until Emilee spoke.
“And?” She looked at me with wide eyes, waiting to hear the rest of the story. “How did they become . . . whatever it is you are?” She laughed a little as she said the last part, obviously unaware of what I was. I wasn’t surprised, of all the human concepts detailing how Fae came to be, the truth is the least known.
“Well,” I began again, adding an air of mystery to my voice, “it was their mother’s fault really. You see, her husband died and she was terrified the gods were going to take her children from her also. So, she hid them in the forest to keep them safe—from being stolen away. However, the gods, knowing and seeing all, were enraged at her attempt to fool them. When the mother went to find her children, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t locate them. The gods had cursed them to be a hidden people.” Emilee’s eyes widened and she smiled knowingly.
“Fairies,” she whispered, biting her lip the way I liked. I laughed, moving my hand from her hair to stroke the side of her face. Pretty and smart.
“Yes, fairies is what the general human term has become. We call ourselves Fae though,” I informed her. “Do I look like some girly fairy to you?” I demanded jokingly, releasing her and making a show of flexing my muscles. She laughed as I hoped she would and then gently touched my arm.
“No, you don’t,” she started, “But is this what you really look like all the time? Can’t fairies, I mean Fae, use glamour?” She seemed to realize that her hand was still on my flexed arm and blushed, pulling it away quickly. I chuckled and pulled her into my embrace, cradling her head on my shoulder and holding her tightly.
“My eyes are normally red,” I said truthfully, “And my ears are usually quite a bit pointier. Glamour can only make me taller or shorter, not change my appearance.” I smiled at her as she turned her face up to look at me. She still looked somewhat confused.
“Do you have wings?” She grimaced slightly, growing more embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, “You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal. I’m not sure what’s polite to ask you.” She looked away apologetically.
“It’s not rude,” I laughed, “How else are you supposed to find out if you don’t ask questions?”
“Well fine then!” she stated. “Do you have wings or not?” She pushed herself out of my arms, choosing instead to sit cross legged in front of me, smiling.
“I do not,” I grinned. “It’s actually very rare to come across a Fae with wings, and when you do, it’s usually a person of great importance. Wings are a gift from the gods,” I explained. “You have to do something supremely great to be gifted a pair.”
“Have you ever met someone with them?” she asked curiously.
“I have,” I began, but was interrupted by a brilliant idea. “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I have an idea, but I need to know if you trust me first.”